


Of Debts and Bonds

by merulanoir



Series: Forget Me Not [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: BDSM, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mating Bond, Self-indulgence to the max, alternative POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 05:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15430008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merulanoir/pseuds/merulanoir
Summary: What happened when Geralt was thrown into the Beauclair prison after saving Dettlaff?Well, quite a lot. Regis knows all about it.An alternative point of view for the events near the end of 'Heartsease' (if you haven't read that one, go check it out first.)





	Of Debts and Bonds

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is! I started it with a vague plan of 'something easy, lots of feelings, ten pages max.' 35 pages later we arrive to this point in time, and yours truly has learnt their lesson about personal preference regarding fic length.
> 
> Set in four parts, the last one of which is just gratuitous smut, because hell yes.

**I**

The Velen sky was overcast, but it had not rained for a few weeks. Farmers had been saying it was a bad omen, but then again, everything that didn't go according to their plans was a bad omen. It was just past nine in the evening, and the smallfolk had retired to their hearths for supper and stories. Sounds of children playing could be heard, but the streets were almost deserted. A pale grey fog that moved according to nothing nature held surged through one street, coming to a halt between two small houses.

Regis landed near the settlement south of Novigrad and shifted back into his human form once he was certain no one was looking. The road through the village would take him to the Glory Gate. Regis drew in a breath, trying to calm himself. He had been traveling as fast as possible to reach Novigrad and help in time. He estimated it had taken him three days. It had certainly felt much longer. The worry and guilt had been weighing him down as he had flown, alternating between his true forms to avoid unwanted attention.

He had come by a map of Velen earlier, and was desperately grateful for his foresight to hang onto it. A lot had changed since he had visited Novigrad, the last but not least the fact that black sun banners now flew from the city walls. They seemed out of place, but not in a bad way. The last time Regis had been to the city, Redania had still existed.

 _Please, give me time. I need time_ , he prayed as set off towards the city with a brisk pace. It was almost nightfall, but Geralt had told him about Dandelion's newest enterprise, and Regis suspected the bard would not be terribly difficult to locate. He trusted that by now the war was sufficiently over and done with, and that the gate guards would not harass him.

True enough, the guards at the Glory Gate admitted him without so much as a second glance and were able to provide him with directions to the Chameleon. Regis smiled at the name, wondering idly whether it had been Dandelion's idea. He only knew Geralt had (once again) had his hand in the events that had led to Dandelion realizing his lifelong dream of a cabaret.

Novigrad was both unchanged and completely new. Regis took a few deep breaths as he walked, taking in the city smells and views. Despite having kept to uninhabited areas for the past years, Regis loved bigger cities. He delighted in the culture and people alike, finding both worth studying. Geralt had been teasing him about it even before his demise in the hands of Vilgefortz; the witcher had claimed Regis was a born city-dweller.

And it was true, in a sense. There was always more to see in cities, and less chance of detection. An old, grey-haired healer all but disappeared into the crowds. Regis had perfected his skill of appearing innocuous, and he noticed he still slipped into the role by instinct. Once he was surrounded by high walls and people, he became Emiel Regis, an aging barber-surgeon from Dillingen, and nothing made people look at him twice.

Regis liked Toussaint and Beauclair. He surmised he liked Novigrad even more, although some of the fascination could be attributed to the novelty of the location. He had been residing in Toussaint for many years, and being in Velen was a welcome change. Or it would have been, had things not gone to hell a week ago. He had wanted to come here with Geralt, let the witcher show him around, introduce him to his new acquaintances (which he always acquired, wherever he went), and enjoy it all together.

Regis shook his head, his throat feeling tight. The last bit of news he had received had robbed him of sleep and caused him to set off at maximum speed. He needed to find Dandelion.

The Chameleon was not hard to find. Even on a weekday there were people loitering about, most of them listening to the fiddler who was playing near the front door. It was a beautiful building, the facade painted with bright colours, looking all-around well-kept and cared for. It certainly stood out from the city scenery.

Regis paused in the shadow of the house, considering his options. He suspected that simply walking in and seeking out Dandelion would cause a scene. The bard would most likely think him a ghost or a doppler coming to torment him, and if Zoltan was present, Regis would receive a headful of axe before he could do much anything. Not that it would harm him in any serious way, but it would certainly draw attention. He would need to be more subtle, try to convince Dandelion of his identity some other way-

”Hands in the air, old man, and be quick about it.”

Regis felt something sharp press against the small of his back. He suppressed a sigh. Robbers, thugs, beggars; the less enjoyable figures of city living. The downside of appearing unthreatening was that it tended to attract all manner of trouble in the form of people who thought he would be an easy target to rob and bother. He was getting careless in his haste to reach his friends. He'd need to deal with the nuisance quickly and be on his way.

The vampire lifted his hands in the air and made to turn. He caught a glimpse of a haggard face, staring eyes ( _fisstech addict_ , he thought idly), and was ready to mesmerize the man and convince him it would be in his best interests to locate his humble physical vessel elsewhere, when someone yelled _”Off with ye!”_ and smashed a bucket full of kitchen waste on the man's head.

Regis blinked and took a quick step back to avoid the rain of potato peels. The robber's eyes bulged as he slumped to the ground, unconscious. Behind him stood a familiar, short figure, wiping his brow.

”Ye alright there? That bum's been lurkin' about-” Zoltan Chivay said, glowering at the robber before raising his gaze and freezing on the spot. The empty bucket clattered to the ground.

Regis was taken back many years. They had first met in Fen Carn, the same night he had met Geralt and the rest of the hansa. If memory served, Zoltan had threatened to poke him full of holes before Geralt had pulled Regis out from his hiding place. He smiled, keeping his hands visible and staying very still.

”Hello, Zoltan. It's been a while,” he said, when the dwarf opened and closed his mouth.

”What- Ye, Regis? Ye died-” Zoltan stammered, blinking rapidly. Regis nodded.

”Close, but not quite. I was brought back by another one of my kind,” he said kindly. Zoltan scowled.

”Brought back? Sounds fishy, if ye ask me,” he muttered, his wits clearly coming back to him. Regis was pleased to see Zoltan was still as sharp as his axe. The vampire pursed his lips, trying to come up with the quickest way to convince his friend.

”Your name is Zoltan Chivay. You are a veteran of the Second Nilfgaard War, a jewelsmith, a soldier of fortune, and, most importantly, a friend of Geralt's. We first met in August 1267, in Fen Carn, where you found me hiding in the graveyard,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm and even. Zoltan's face was changing color, becoming paler. His mouth worked furiously, but no sounds escaped.

”My whole name is Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, which you dubbed as the most ridiculous name a living creature could be burdened with, right before you and the rest of the hansa drank all of my mandrake moonshine. I'm a higher vampire, and also have the honor of counting Geralt of Rivia amongst my friends,” he finished, smiling wider now, as Zoltan's face had broken into an amazed grin.

”By Gods!” he exclaimed, and then he was hugging Regis. Regis hugged him back, joining in on his laughter. Zoltan pulled back, regarding him with a wondering look in his eyes.

”Damn ye, Regis, you scared me shiteless. For a while I reckoned Dudu might be pullin' me leg.”

Regis smiled at the familiar name. ”Is master Letorte well?” he asked. Zoltan barked a laugh.

”Well?! The bastard is runnin' the biggest con of the town and enjoyin' every moment!” Regis laughed at that but soon fell silent, trying to find the words.

”Zoltan, as much as I like seeing you again, I'm afraid I come bringing bad news. Geralt is in trouble,” he said, seeing Zoltan's smile fall.

”What? Tell me!” he answered as a look of worry passed through his face. ”The last I saw the lad, he was all morose. 'Twas right after Ciri went off to join the black ones fer good. We haven't heard from him since.”

”We?” Regis inquired, feeling hopeful.

”Ach, Dandelion and I,” Zoltan said, shrugging. ”We accompanied them to White Orchard, but after Ciri left, Geralt was actin' all strange and insisted on going his way. Shoulda known he was up to something.” Regis grasped Zoltan's arm, careful not to squeeze too hard.

”Is Dandelion here? I have to speak with him,” he said, urgency bleeding into his voice. Zoltan harrumphed and scratched his beard.

”Aye, he's here. Supposed to observe a new performer right about now,” he answered, considering Regis. ”But listen, Regis, we cannae drop you in the middle of the crowd, or else Dandelion's going to burst a vessel from fright.”

Regis nodded, glad he had made the right call. Zoltan was silent for a moment and then his expression cleared.

”What the hell. I'll drop you in one the empty rooms and bring our master bard there. If his weary old heart stops, at least we're someplace private and have a surgeon present,” he shrugged, before walking back towards the house and gesturing for Regis to follow. The vampire was feeling a tad apprehensive about the plan, but couldn't come up with anything better. He sighed, pulled on the hood of his cloak, and followed Zoltan into the noisy inn through the back door.

Regis managed to glimpse Dandelion, in the middle of a crowd as he expected, before Zoltan motioned him towards the stairs.

”Up there, the first room to the right is empty,” the dwarf whispered and gave him a push. ”I'll bring Dandelion as soon as I manage to extract him from that group of mummers.”

Regis cast a last glance around the room before continuing up the stairs. From what he saw, it was a beautiful, colourful place, decorated with what he recognized as dwarven handiwork. Dandelion's hair was longer and he seemed to have reached the sort of maturity which brought forth his handsomeness even more than his youth had done. His garish sense of fashion remained ever the same, and Regis felt a stab of fondness.

The room Zoltan directed him to was sparsely furnished, but clean and spacious. It seemed more like a spare bedroom rather than one in which customers were being entertained in the less-sophisticated ways of local culture. Regis pulled off his hood and sat down by the window, pondering on his options. If he was honest with himself, he was not entirely sure how he would go about his plan to help Geralt. He only knew he had promised he would not break into the Beauclair prison and cause a scene.

He had spent days on edge, desperate for any news of his lover. When the gossip around Beauclair turned to the general consensus that the White Wolf had perished in the battle, Regis had known something had gone badly wrong with Geralt's plan. He had sneaked into the castle and almost risked detection on behalf of Anna Henrietta's wards and mages. After careful and anxious spying he had finally gathered that Geralt had been taken and locked away, the duchess intent on getting her personal revenge this way. Regis had almost broken his promise, then. He had a creeping suspicion that Geralt's life was in danger, and his first instinct was to damn it all and go rescue his pack member. His mate.

Because that's what Geralt was. Regis had not told him yet, but he knew his heart had decided on the fact long ago. There was no way to deny it, not when he could sense his core tugging towards Geralt whenever he was near, how they both instinctively knew what the other needed, and how Regis' heart felt calm and happy when he held him.

Choosing a mate was a process shrouded in much mystery and gossip among the higher vampires, but it usually involved a long courtship and mutual trust. There was no formal etiquette to follow, the mating bond was simply born when two hearts got sufficiently familiar with each other and there was romantic love present. It was a choice, just like with humans, but with physical effects. What Regis still couldn't understand was how Geralt had managed to _initiate_ the process, unless the witcher mutations truly included some vampire mutagens.

Regis felt something tighten inside him until everything seemed to hurt. He felt useless and alone. Dettlaff had disappeared from his mind the night he left. Where the blood bond had resided in his mind was now only a hollow space with no life. He had not felt this lonely in a very long time.

The door slammed open, and Regis whipped his head around. Dandelion was looking over his shoulder and talking to Zoltan, clearly irritated.

”Zoltan, I'm telling, you, we do not need a new contractor! I see no use to meet hi-i-i-” he turned back towards the room and the rest of his sentence disappeared into the air as his eyes widened. Regis tried to smile and rose to his feet.

”Hello, Dandelion.”

***

After Zoltan had poured a third shot of vodka and all but sloshed it down Dandelion's throat, the bard seemed calm enough to look Regis in the eye without yelling incoherent and horrified sentences. Now he was looking at Regis like he expected the vampire to blink off from existence any moment now.

”H-how? Regis, is that really you?” he mumbled, his hands twitching on his knees. Zoltan had wrestled him to sit down on the bed. Regis sat down next to him, taking in his friend. Closer up, Dandelion looked very much the same as he remembered. He had aged, but had indeed done it well. Regis could still see why so many thought the bard half-elven. He still had the familiar glint in his eye, although currently he looked only nauseous and apprehensive.

”Yes,” Regis smiled. ”It's me. I was brought back. I already managed to convince Zoltan of my identity, so perhaps I should extend the same courtesy to you.” When Dandelion merely gulped, Regis licked his lips.

”Your real name is Julian Alfred Pankratz. You studied the seven liberal arts at the Oxenfurt Academy. You are Geralt's oldest and dearest friend, whom he first met in Aedirn, in the town of Gulet, after you had landed yourself in quite a trouble with some local gentlemen and their sister. You are a master poet, and a friend of mine as well,” he said in a quiet voice, hoping he would not need to recount much more history tonight.

Dandelion finally seemed to regain enough of his senses. Suddenly he burst into a smile, clearly only now daring to believe his eyes.

”Oh! Regis! You were the only one who bothered to remember my birth name!” he exclaimed before hugging Regis close and laughing. Regis returned the embrace, feeling amused that this was the fact that had convinced Dandelion. It felt like things were finally moving in the right direction.

When they parted, Dandelion whistled and grinned.

”This is splendid! You must tell me everything! Regenerating must be harsh, you look much older. We all thought you dead, even Geralt. Oh! Does Geralt know you're back? He'll be overjoyed!”

When he saw Regis' grim expression, his smile faltered.

”What is it?” he asked, all jest immediately gone from his voice. Regis sighed, feeling his shoulders slump.

”Geralt is in trouble. It's my fault, and I am unable to help him by myself,” he began, but then the door burst open, almost slamming Zoltan in the face. A woman in her twenties, pretty and dressed up as a dancer, was looking at Dandelion expectantly.

”Master Dandelion, the performance is starting in a few minutes,” she said, paying the rest of them no attention. Dandelion scowled, waving his hand at her.

”I will not make it. I have other business to attend to,” he told her. The girl pouted.

”But you said you absolutely wanted to-”

”Not now, Aileen!” Dandelion snapped. When the girl visibly recoiled, he softened and offered her a tight smile.

”I have some extremely personal matters which require my full attention. If you need anything, please consult Priscilla.”

Aileen gave him a hesitant nod before closing the door after her. Dandelion turned his gaze back to Regis.

”Where were you?” he asked, looking somber. Regis cleared his throat.

”A short time ago, Geralt received a contract from the duchess of Toussaint, Anna Henrietta. The contract was on the so-called Beast of Beauclair, who had been killing knights and had evaded all attempts of capture. During his search, Geralt found out the Beast was a higher vampire, and none other than the one who had brought me back to life. His name is Dettlaff van der Eretein.”

Zoltan's bushy eyebrows shot up.

”Is? Geralt didn't manage to kill him?” he asked, sounding incredulous. Regis shook his head.

”I'm afraid the case is not that simple, and besides, we can be killed only by one of our own, as I recall telling you.”

Dandelion shushed Zoltan, gesturing Regis to go on.

”I offered my aid to Geralt as soon as managed to reveal myself to him. You see, Dettlaff and I share a tight bond because of the regeneration, and I know him better than anyone else. Dettlaff is not cruel, nor is he evil. I knew something was not right when he started killing people, and wished to help him.”

”Regis, that good heart of yours is goin' to land you in deep shite one of these days,” Zoltan muttered, crossing his arms. Regis offered him a wan smile, trying to convey that he'd reached that particular destination already.

”Our search revealed that the person behind the murders was Dettlaff's former lover, who turned out to be Anna Henrietta's banished sister,” he went on but, as he had expected, now Dandelion interrupted.

”What?! No!” he yelped, looking scandalized. Zoltan glared at him. Regis heaved yet another sigh.

”Sylvia Anna had returned from exile. She had faked her own abduction, posing as the criminal and blackmailing Dettlaff to kill on her behalf. Dettlaff was devastated when we told him about it. Enough so that he acted rashly, causing collateral damage in scale beyond any reason. To stop the bloodshed, Geralt believed me when I suggested we take Syanna to meet Dettlaff once more, to give her a chance to explain herself.”

Regis leaned on his knees, swallowing. His head was pounding.

”Dettlaff... He killed Syanna.”

Dandelion looked devastated, his mouth hanging open. Zoltan was scowling.

”So why is it that yer here and Geralt's not, if ye did all this together?” he asked, looking at Regis with narrowed eyes. Regis didn't dare to break the eye contact.

”Because Geralt made me swear I would not follow him when he took Syanna's body back to the castle,” he whispered. The words felt like pieces of glass in his mouth.

In the silence that followed, Regis could hear their heartbeats and every drawn breath, the sounds mingling with the general noise of music and laughter drifting from downstairs. He forces his shoulders to relax, waiting for the verdict.

Finally, Dandelion spoke up: ”But... Why would Geralt do that? Help a vampire?”

Regis looked at his feet, unsure what to say. He could not reveal the shape of his relationship to Geralt without the witcher's consent.

”Because he trusts Regis,” he heard Zoltan say. Regis' eyes shot up. Zoltan was still looking at him, but not unkindly. ”Geralt always said ye were the one he would trust in everything, even the most insane things. If he trusted yer word that this... Dettlaff fellow had a reason for going on a rampage and he deserved savin', then so do I,” he finished. Regis was forced to swallow against something hot and heavy inside his throat.

Dandelion was looking shocked.

”But Anarietta's sister! What about her?” he exclaimed, looking distressed. Regis pursed his lips.

”Syanna was a blackmailer. Her goal was to bring forth Anna Henrietta's downfall by faking her own abduction and extorting her former lover to do her bidding. Dettlaff thought she was in danger and did everything he could to save her, only to find out she had been lying to him from he beginning and using him as a tool of her personal revenge,” Regis said, feeling the familiar anger rising, as it did everytime he thought of Syanna.

Dandelion cleared his throat, still looking close to tears.

”I trust you, Regis, if only because Geralt does. I wish to understand more, but as I recall you saying, Geralt needs help,” he stuttered, gathering his thoughts with evident difficulty. ”What should we do?” he asked, looking at him.

Regis felt a sinking feeling. He had not planned that far ahead, having been consumed by his need to find his old friends.

”I don't know yet,” he whispered. ”I was hoping you could perhaps convince Anna Henrietta to release him-” he begun, stopping when Dandelion shook his head.

”She is dear to me, but we did not part on the best of terms, I must confess,” he mumbled, looking crestfallen.

Before any of them could come up with anything to say, there was a knock on the door and it opened again. A beautiful woman with blonde hair, wearing the attire of a bard, and sporting a scar on her cheek peeked into the room.

”Dandelion, dear, is everything-?” she began, but when she saw he was not alone, her mouth opened and she uttered a soft _oh_.

Dandelion gave her a weak smile and rose up from the bed.

”My dear, please come in and close the door,” he said, entwining his fingers with hers as she stepped closer. ”Allow me to make introductions. Priscilla, this is Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, but everyone calls him Regis. He is one of the oldest and most beloved friends of Geralt, myself, and Zoltan, and the one whom we thought lost long ago.” Dandelion turned to look at Regis, smiling. ”Regis, my friend. This is Priscilla. The one and only, also known as Callonetta.”

Regis got to his feet and bowed to her, taking in the easy way she held Dandelion's hand and the way Dandelion's body had immediately relaxed and angled itself towards her when she entered. They were in love; in a comfortable kind of love, that spoke of commitment and shared obstacles that they had overcome.

”The pleasure is all mine,” Regis smiled. Priscilla tilted her head, a mischievous glint in her blue eyes.

”Say, are you the same gentleman Dandelion has mentioned so many a time? The one who has the gift of the gab, and who might very well be something altogether different than what appearances suggest?” she asked, smiling so beautifully her scar all but ceased to exist. Regis laughed and cast a glance at Dandelion, who looked sheepish.

”If the shoe fits,” he merely remarked, nodding. He was coming to like Priscilla immediately, and not only because she apparently did not so much as blink at being greeted by a higher vampire.

Priscilla regarded them for a few seconds.

”Something is wrong,” she said, looking at Dandelion. ”I suspected it before I came to see why Dandelion would not attend the performance, but now that I see you three, I know it. Can you enlighten me? I promise I will hold my silence,” she said. Regis cast a glance at Dandelion and Zoltan, who nodded.

”The lass knows Geralt,” the dwarf said immediately. ”She helped him find Dudu, back when he was still looking for Ciri. Priscilla can be trusted.” Dandelion nodded fervently, and Regis decided he could indeed show some trust of his own.

”I come looking for help,” he began, gesturing for everybody to sit down. ”Geralt is in trouble, and I am out of ideas and means to help him.”

Telling the story to Priscilla felt a notch easier than it had been before, but the sense of dread still clawed at his insides. She listened intently, her hands flying to her mouth when Regis got to the point where he revealed Syanna's fate. Afterwards, she looked deep in thought, leaning on Dandelion's shoulder.

”So, Geralt's been imprisoned, but they have not announced a trial of any kind?” she finally asked. Regis shook his head.

”No. The smallfolk of Beauclair seems to believe he died in the battle against the invading vampires.”

Priscilla hummed, pursing her lips. ”So it is not a just cause, therefore...” she muttered, and then her eyes brigthened. ”Ciri!” she exclaimed.

Regis looked at her, only now seeing what she had deduced immediately. Geralt was being held unjustly. Anna Henrietta was a sovereign, but her duchy was still under the banners of Nilfgaard. And Cirilla was the crown princess, who undoubtedly would feel the need to help the man who was her father in all but name. It was so beautifully simple Regis wondered just how badly he had allowed the worry to cloud his judgement.

He was not alone with his opinion. Dandelion had jumped up, looking exuberant.

”I am due to perform at the court on the morrow! Ciri had personally requested my presence!” He whirled around, embracing Priscilla. ”You wonderful woman! What would I do without you?” he laughed, kissing her. Priscilla laughed, even as she kissed him back.

”Aye, it's as good a plan as anything we might've come up,” Zoltan smiled, looking relieved. ”But Ciri is only a princess. Think it will be enough, her word against the duchess'?” he asked, frowning. Regis crossed his hands, thinking.

”We have to try. And Cirilla is an intelligent woman. No doubt she will come up something if it is the case,” he finally said. Dandelion was nodding.

”I will bring her here, no need trying to smuggle you into the meeting,” the bard said. Regis nodded again. He was suddenly feeling awkward.

”Hmm, I think I need to prepare an apology,” he mumbled and rubbed his neck. Zoltan lifted an eyebrow, and Regis cleared his throat. ”I might have given...well, the worst possible first impression to Cirilla when we met at the Stygga castle,” he continued, recalling the chaos all too well. To his chagrin, Dandelion laughed at that.

”Ahh, she told me about it!” he grinned, clearly not caring one wit for Regis' glare. ”But I think she doesn't hold a grudge. You did save her, after all.” Regis shifted, still feeling uncomfortable. ”Still... I could have tried not to scare her so much,” he huffed. Zoltan chortled along with Dandelion. Only Priscilla looked sympathetic, probably by now imagining who knew what horrors.

”Ah, well,” Dandelion finally said. ”Regis, I know you enjoy sleeping and good food, so please help yourself to my kitchen and to this room. I must go see the performer now, there may yet be a chance to appease her. I will go see Ciri first thing in the morning and bring her here,” he said, smiling reassuringly. Regis got up and hugged his friend. Dandelion had become stronger, he thought and smiled to himself.

”Thank you. All of you. You have been kind to me, when I came to bring only bad news of my own making,” he said. Zoltan waved a hand, dismissive.

”Don't worry about it, Regis. We all get in trouble, and then our friends come drag us out. It's how it works.”

 

**II**

The morning dawned downcast and grey. The weather seemed to mirror Regis' mood as he sat by the window, looking out, and not even pretending to do anything but wait anxiously. He could see people walk by the cabaret, and normally he would have given each and everyone a thorough glance, trying to decipher things about them. Now he only let his eyes and thoughts drift, not able to concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes.

Dandelion had left an hour ago. He had given Regis a reassuring smile before trotting up the street towards the Temple Isle, where the imperial administration had taken residence after banishing hierarch Hemmelfart and his lackeys from the city. Regis had been pleased to hear the purge had stopped at once when Nilfgaard had finally taken Novigrad; the news about the persecution of mages and non-humans had saddened him greatly, once more making him question the sense of organized religion.

Regis could see Zoltan giving him worried glances from where he was fixing a broken bench, but the dwarf was mercifully allowing him the space to ruminate ( _brood_ , Geralt's voice said in his head, hurting and comforting at the same time.) The dwarf had been puttering around the main hall of the cabaret ever after Dandelion had left, and Regis suspected he too was simply nervous as hell.

Looking around the place, Regis couldn't help but wonder about Geralt's unflinching devotion to his friends. Zoltan had recounted him every step of the winding way they'd had to walk to save Dandelion from the prison. When the dwarf had reached the part where Geralt stepped on the stage to perform in a play, Regis had accused him of lying to his face, and Zoltan had sworn it by the graves of his ancestors, all the while laughing so hard he very nearly choked on his ale. Regis would have gladly _paid_ to see the play, but not to laugh at the witcher; it would have been a token of his lover's good heart, one among the innumerable ones he had witnessed.

A sudden flash of bright light interrupted him. He was on his feet in seconds, realizing that the empty floor in front of him was now occupied by Dandelion and a woman with very light hair, startling green eyes, and a kind smile.

”Cirilla,” he whispered, frozen in place.

”Regis,” Ciri answered, smiling and stepping into his space to hug him without a moment's hesitation. ”It's so good to see you again.”

When she stepped back, Regis saw she had grown up every bit as beautiful as Geralt had told. She held herself up in a way that spoke of her experience in matters both violent and diplomatic. She was dressed in formal black pants and an embroidered tunic, her hair held in an elegant bun.

”Shall we sit down?” Dandelion said, and they took seats around the table closest to the bar. Ciri sat down opposite of Regis and regarded him curiously. There was not a hint of the fear she had shown when Regis had burst into the Stygga castle's laboratory in his true form, and caused an infernal mess of things.

”Dandelion has filled me in,” she begun, crossing her fingers and leaning forward. There was something that reminded Regis of Geralt in the gesture. ”I wish to hear the whole story when we have more time, but right now we need to act quickly. Anna Henrietta is not known for her patience, and I'm afraid she plans to hurt Geralt, if she hasn't already.” She saw the way Zoltan and Dandelion were looking at her.

”What?” she protested. ”Emhyr's been giving me in-depth lessons of every damned monarch and noble the empire has. The ones he doesn't like stick to my mind very well,” she said with a laugh and shrugged. Then she sobered. ”As Dandelion has no doubt pointed out, my word alone will not be enough. I'm officially the crown princess, but my influence is not yet strong enough to overrule the duchess.”

Regis was sad to hear that. This turn of events meant they would need to involve other people in the proceedings, and it would complicate everything, make them move slowly.

”But,” Ciri continued before Regis could say anything. ”We are not helpless. As I said, I _am_ the crown princess, and the emperor will lend me his ear. We can also ask Yennefer, I'm sure she wants to help. I was only able to send her a quick word, telling her I would need her soon, and to be expecting me and a visitor very soon.”

Regis could have cried, then. He could see without a shadow of a doubt that this was Geralt's daughter. Cirilla had the same analytical yet brash mind, which was able to leap into conclusions and form plans when normal people were still beginning to grasp the realities of the situation. Instead of giving in to his emotions, he cleared his throat.

”Cirilla, you are heaven-sent,” he said. ”Will you take Dandelion with you? He has some influence in the Toussaintois court-”

”No, Regis,” Ciri interrupted him, her smile widening and her eyes a bit mischievous. ”I'm taking you.”

***

Traveling with Ciri was vastly different than traveling via a portal. One moment, he was at the cabaret, still trying to come up with something to convince Geralt's reckless daughter that taking a higher vampire into the Nilfgaardian court was a very, very bad idea-

-And the next, he was aware of Cirilla gripping his right arm tightly, a flash of light blinding him, and they were standing in a high-ceilinged, beautiful study that was undoubtedly located somewhere decidedly else than the lower districts of Novigrad.

”We're here,” she said, releasing him and straightening her tunic. ”Come, Yen must be tearing her hair out by now,” she continued, starting towards the door. Regis grabbed her arm, trying to remain calm.

”Cirilla, please. Listen to me,” he said in a low voice, dropping the contact immediately to avoid anything that could feel threatening. Ciri stopped and faced him, looking curious.

”I- I am certain most of the detection spells and wards cannot detect higher vampires, but the emperor of Nilfgaard is not a normal ruler. I would not put it past him to have acquired some sort of protection against my kind, as well,” Regis said. He was feeling vaguely nauseous at the thought that he might have to meet Emhyr var Emreis in person. Unlike Geralt, Regis was usually at least moderately apprehensive about meeting rulers. Comes with the age, he thought. Ciri took his cold hands into hers, squeezing reassuringly.

”Don't worry. Yen is the person responsible for Emhyr's safety. She will know if there is a ward that needs to be taken down,” she smiled.

”What about the fact that you are planning on bringing a being that every other person in this building thinks is essentially a monster into the presence of the emperor?” Regis asked, stiff and feeling almost scared.

Ciri looked at him and cocked her head.

”Emhyr trusts me, believe it or not. He trusts Yen, too. When you're with us, he will listen to you,” she answered with absolute certainty. That, too, brought back a memories of a certain witcher. Regis couldn't help the small smile that spread on his face.

”You are so much like Geralt, Cirilla,” he said, already knowing he would concur to her plans. ”As deftly smart and able to hatch impropable plans, and as chronically unafraid of the people in power.”

Ciri threw her head back and laughed. ”Thank you, you are not the first one to tell me that,” she giggled. She chuckled, but then took in Regis' dark expression and asked: ”What is it, Regis?”

Regis sighed.

”I wanted to apologize for when me first met, back in the Stygga castle. I behaved irresponsibly, and scared you only because I couldn't control myself,” he whispered, feeling the shame cut as deep as it had before, when he had thought about it after coming back to his senses.

Ciri stared at him for a second and then her face broke into a sad smile.

”Oh, Regis. I forgive you. I forgave you years ago, in fact. You are not the only one who has lost control of their powers,” she said in a quiet voice, and Regis knew she was thinking of the battle of Kaer Morhen. Geralt had told him about it in passing, but the pain of losing his surrogate father, master Vesemir, was clearly still a fresh and aching wound.

Ciri gave his hands a last squeeze before letting go. ”Come. Yen will be glad to see you,” she said, opening the door.

Yennefer of Vengerberg, as it turned out, was not exactly glad to see Regis. She dropped the vial she was holding and went deathly pale when he stepped into her study after Cirilla. Then there was a whole lot of shouting, mostly done by the two women, while simultaneously Regis tried desperately to listen whether the guards had heard the commotion.

When Ciri finally managed to calm the sorceress down, she took a deep breath, rubbed her eyes and muttered something about _”Geralt and his friends and the trouble they always manage to get into.”_

”I am sorry to upset you, lady Yennefer,” Regis said, when she seemed unlikely to throw anything at him. Yennefer raised her violet eyes and looked at him for a long while. Finally, she smiled and her shoulders relaxed.

”Oh, forgive me, Regis. It's simply...overwhelming to be greeted by someone you saw die,” she said, exhaling. ”It is good to see you alive and well, although your hair has quite a bit more grey now than it used to.” Regis chuckled.

”Old age catches up on me as well, my lady,” he explained. Yennefer waved her hand. ”Oh please, call me Yennefer. I rather think we're past all formalities. But what is this trouble I hear about? Ciri only deigned to inform me Geralt was in mortal danger and then left me to worry for _hours..._ ”

Regis was desperately glad Cirilla took it to herself to enlighten Yennefer of the situation and their plan. The way she put it, it didn't seem like an insurmountable obstacle; merely something that would require convincing the emperor to cooperate with them. All in all, ultimately doable. Regis came to the conclusion that to the woman who had defeated the White Frost, anything that kept to the mortal realms must seem almost trivial by comparison.

”So, I think it's time we paid my dear father a visit,” Ciri concluded, drawing Regis back into the present moment. ”I happen to know his schedule for the morning consists of answering to correspondence from the Ofieri trade corporations, and that he very much hates the task. I suggest we go see him immediately.”

Regis still felt like this was a very bad idea, but neither women would hear his weak protests. He was beginning to see where Geralt got his infallible poker face when dealing with strong-willed people.

The Nilfgaardian court and administration had occupied a large, beautiful building near the former temple of the Eternal Fire. The way Cirilla explained it as they walked the carpeted corridors, they only had the bare minimum of the officials present, because there simply was not enough space. When Regis asked why the emperor himself had decided to stay in Novigrad, she shrugged, explaining that Emhyr var Emreis was _”kind of particular about the way he wants the former free city to run, and believes it will all go to hell if he leaves it to some of his generals.”_ Ciri smirked at that. ”I think he simply likes the city. It's a nice change from the war to be surrounded by libraries, culture, and educated people. And he's planning on leaving me here in his stead, as soon as things settle.”

They arrived at handsome double doors, which were carved from mahogany. The guards standing outside nodded to Cirilla and Yennefer, but looked at their companion suspiciously. Regis was acutely aware of his modest clothing and generally disheveled appearance. In his wildest dreams had he not thought he would need formal attire on his trip. He didn't even _own_ anything that would qualify for meeting the emperor of Nilfgaard.

” _He is with us,_ ” Cirilla said in Nilfgaardian. The guards cast a glance at each other, but let them pass. Ciri knocked, and opened the doors without waiting for a reply. Regis sent a silent prayer to whatever deity might be listening, and followed in behind Yennefer. He heard the guards close the door behind him and immediately launch into a heated, whispered debate as to who the mysterious visitor might be.

The room was smaller than he had expected. It was sparsely furnished, with a handsome fireplace, several bookshelves, and a table with a chess set on it. On the far end of the room stood a big desk, currently strewn with papers and books, and behind it sat Emhyr var Emreis.

The emperor looked up from his reading and raised an eyebrow before standing up.

”Lady Yennefer,” he greeted the sorceress before turning his sharp eyes to Ciri. ”Cirilla. What is the meaning of this?” he asked, his voice smooth and calm, but with a hint of irritation. His brown eyes flicked to Regis and then back to his daughter. Ciri stood her ground, her hands clasped in front of her.

”Father, we must speak. There is an urgent matter which is bound to interest you,” she said and looked at Regis. ”This man here is named Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy. He is an old friend of Geralt's, and has come seeking our aid. Geralt is in danger.”

Regis was mildly impressed Cirilla had remembered his whole name, but then again, she spent her days immersing herself into the Nilfgaardian customs and lines of heritage. One vampire name was probably a breeze compared to them.

Emhyr var Emreis turned to look at Regis properly. The vampire bowed, trying to appear as human and unthreatening as possible.

”Your majesty,” he said, straightening and looking into the emperor's eyes. ”I apologize for the intrusion and the informality of my visit, but lady Cirilla assured me these transgressions could be overlooked. I am also sorry to bring bad news to you, but Geralt of Rivia is indeed in danger.”

Emhyr var Emreis nodded his head, and Regis saw a flicker of surprise; perhaps he had expected Regis to speak like the smallfolk did. For once, Regis was glad of his way with words. There had also been a hint of something else in those deep eyes, but he couldn't tell what. The emperor guarded his expressions carefully.

”Very well. I will listen,” the emperor said after considering him for a long moment. He gestured for them to take seats and returned to his own. Once everyone had sat down, he leaned back. Cirilla was the only one who spoke, clearly unafraid and used to talking to the emperor. When she had recounted the whole story, the emperor pursed his lips minutely.

”Anna Henrietta is a sovereign-” he begun, latching onto the most obvious problem right away, but Ciri interrupted him immediately. From the look that crossed Emhyr var Emreis' face, Regis could tell this was a common occurrence.

”But there has been no trial!” Ciri countered, her face stubborn. ”She has swept everything under a rug, only because she wants to exact revenge on Geralt.”

”Your majesty, Sylvia Anna was a criminal, guilty of treason and much more. By refusing to make her answer to her crimes, the duchess has condemned her cause for holding the witcher,” Yennefer said quietly, when the emperor did not continue his previous sentence.

”Regis has told us that Geralt was simply thrown into a cell and that he is being treated poorly. We are short on time,” Ciri continued, a trace of steel lacing her voice. Regis could suddenly tell that if this would not work out, Cirilla would personally make sure his surrogate father would be released, all consequences be damned. She was so much alike Geralt in that sense, too. Regis had lost count on the times he had been rushing after the witcher, trying to come up with any semblance of a plan to salvage the situation.

Emhyr var Emreis leaned forward, his eyes piercing Regis where he sat.

”Master Regis, why is it that a witcher would prefer to help a vampire, rather than a human?” he asked. His voice was deep and still betrayed no hint of emotion. Regis couldn't tell whether the man was curious or condemning.

”Your majesty... As I'm certain you know, Geralt of Rivia is a man of conscience. He will not kill if the situation can be resolved otherwise. He will also not let someone who has been taken advantage of suffer for other people's crimes,” was all he could say. Emhyr var Emreis stared back at him, unblinking. Suddenly, he glanced at Ciri and Yennefer.

”Cirilla, lady Yennefer. Please leave us,” he said, standing up.

Ciri started to protest, but the emperor held up his hand. ”He is perfectly safe, you have my word. You may wait outside. I will call for you.”

Ciri cast an anxious glance at Regis before rushing to join Yennefer. Regis heard the door close. He had stood up as the women did, and did not dare sit down again. He watched as the emperor walked towards the empty fireplace and leaned his back on it, hands folded in front of him. He was watching Regis intently and his body language betrayed the slightest trace of caution.

”Master Regis, I will speak bluntly to save us some time. I am extremely familiar with the witcher's personal history, including his time with this so-called hansa. I know who you are,” he said quietly.

Regis felt like he was dipped in ice. He cursed his stupidity. How had he not seen this? After everything Geralt had told him about Emhyr var Emreis, how could he have been so stupid as to reveal himself right away? Of course the emperor had taken it upon himself to find out everything there was to know about the man he chose to search for his heir.

Regis swallowed, but did not answer. The emperor cocked his head and gave him a minute smile.

”You need not be afraid. I have no interest in detaining you, nor do I hold any illusions as to my ability of currently doing so. In fact, I have put myself at your mercy by allowing Cirilla and lady Yennefer to leave the room,” he said, indicating with a wave of his hand that the room was empty, save for the two of them.

”So, I would like to ask you something. I do not know whether you have any inclination to answer me, honestly of otherwise. I will, however, let you know that I will help you. Let that dissuade any worries you might have,” Emhyr var Emreis continued. Regis blinked rapidly, trying to come up with a thanks, or anything sensible, really.

”Are you truly a higher vampire? My knowledge of the subject is almost nonexistent, for I was under the impression vampires are simple beasts that prowl the night and hunt the unwary,” the emperor asked. He had not moved. His tone was still calm, not friendly, but not threatening either. Regis cleared his throat and straightened. He could be brave, for Geralt.

”I am,” was all he said. He could see interest flash in those brown eyes.

”You will not endanger your brethren by saying more.” It was not a question, so Regis didn't answer that.

”How is it that a higher vampire would come to befriend a witcher?”

Regis almost sighed aloud. The very question he himself had wondered, and the one Geralt had agonized over for a long time.

”For the same reason any man befriends another,” he answered, his black eyes narrowing. ”Respect. Loyalty. Kinship.”

”Kinship. Indeed,” Emhyr var Emreis hummed, shifting to stand straight. His face still showed no trace of emotions. ”I am under the impession that you saved Cirilla the same night you... Hm, died, for the lack of a better term. For that, I thank you, master Regis.”

Regis shrugged.

”As I said. Loyalty. I was there with Geralt, on the same mission as him,” was all he came up with. It had been so much more, even back then. He had been crazy with fear that night. He had allowed himself to feel the love his heart held for the witcher only just before they'd attacked the castle, and his whole being had been aflame with it. He had felt a whirlwind of want, regret, and adoration as he tore through the soldiers, towards Vilgefortz. Anything to save Geralt.

He was certain nothing of his feelings were showing on his face, but suddenly the emperor looked away, almost as if satisfied with the conversation.

”Tell me master Regis, do you play chess?” he suddenly asked. Regis looked at the set on the table, seeing the familiar black and white pieces.

”Yes, your majesty. I do.”

”I am under the impression you are fluent in several languages. Do you speak Nilfgaardian?”

” _That, and many others,”_ Regis answered in very formal and thus exceedingly complex Nilfgaardian, feeling confused. ”Why do you ask?” he added, switching back to Common.

The emperor gave him an actual smile, but the expression hid something darker.

”Information, as you very well know, is the most powerful weapon in the time of peace. There may well come a day when this knowledge could prove useful to me, or to Cirilla,” he said, his tone indicating the conversation was over.

Regis was left processing this cryptical statement, as the emperor called Cirilla and Yennefer back into the room. Ciri gave him a worried glance, and Regis smiled reassuringly to her. They listened to Emhyr's plan, which was so simple and brutally efficient that Regis felt like it could actually work.

”I suggest you employ master Dandelion to deliver the message and to enact the actual release. He is familiar with the court and its habits, but more importantly the duchess is still hopefully fond enough of him that she will not throw him in the cell to replace the witcher,” the emperor concluded as he handed the release order to Cirilla. Regis could not argue with his logic.

***

They left in a hurry. Regis had just enough time to wish Zoltan well before Cirilla whisked him through time and space, landing them with perfect accuracy on the doorstep on Corvo Bianco. The midday sun blinded Regis for a moment, until he heard a familiar voice.

”Master Regis! It's good to see you. And this must be, if I am not grossly mistaken, lady Cirilla! My name is Barnabas-Basil Foulty, I am master Geralt's majordomo.”

The steward swept a deep bow and kissed Ciri's hand. Ciri curtsied, instantly taken with the charming man.

”The pleasure is all mine, mister Foulty,” she said, smiling. Then she sobered. ”We have come on an important mission. No doubt you know Geralt is missing?" Barnabas-Basil nodded vigorously.

”Yes, my lady. The people of Beauclair claim he perished in the battle, but I cannot find it in myself to believe the rumours,” he answered, squinting when suddenly a portal opened and Yennefer came through with Dandelion. The bard was rubbing his temples and muttering something about _”Geralt having the right of it.”_

”Master Dandelion requires swift horses and a carriage to take him to the Beauclair palace immediately,” Ciri told Barnabas-Basil. The majordomo nodded and then he was running towards the stables, bellowing orders to stable hands. Regis turned to look at Ciri.

”If Geralt is hurt, we need to prepare accordingly,” he said, his mind shifting into a practical gear and burying the worry that was gnawing at him. Yennefer nodded.

”I brought my own kit. I will take care of him,” she answered. Ciri gave her a tight smile.

They watched Dandelion depart as soon as the horses had been readied. He looked pale but determined as he climbed into the carriage.

”Don't worry, Regis,” he said, trying to sound convincing. ”We'll get him back.” Regis simply nodded and waved as he left. He was agitated and tired, having spent most the previous night pacing the room and unable to sleep. He rubbed his temples, feeling a headache building at the back of his skull.

”Master Regis. A word, if you will?” Barnabas-Basil had appeared at his shoulder. The steward took him to the foyer, out of earshot from Ciri and Yennefer who had followed Marlene to the dining room.

”Forgive me for intruding into your private affairs, but I wanted to ascertain some things,” the man began, looking him steadfastly in the eye. ”I wanted to ask whether master Geralt's friends and family are aware of the nature of your relationship?”

Regis bit his lip and looked away. The majordomo nodded.

”Ah. So I was right to ask. Don't worry, master Regis, I'm only asking because I wanted to make the bedrooms ready for all of the guests,” he said, his eyes suddenly looking kind. ”If I may say so, master Geralt has seemed very happy when he has been with you,” he added before giving him a little bow and going about his business. Regis was left wondering about the way Geralt managed to inspire loyalty in just about every decent person he came across on his travels.

***

If Regis had thought _waiting_ for Dandelion to come back had been horrible, it was nothing compared to his actual return. Regis ran out the minute when he heard the carriage return a little after ten in the evening. The bard flew out of the wagon, his eyes panicked and hat askew.

”He's not responding, his breathing's really bad-” he wailed, clearly having spent the entire way back fretting.

Regis pushed past him and climbed into the cart, instantly smelling infection, fever, and blood. Geralt was lying on his side on the makeshift bunk, covered in all manner of filth, his hair matted with blood and dirt, face slack. Regis heard his heart struggling to keep pumping and his shallow, ragged breaths, and a curse in the old language of vampires forced itself out of his mouth. Rage flashed through him. _They had hurt his mate._

He gathered Geralt up as gently as he could, wincing as he felt the fever that was ravaging him. He all but ran back to the house, where Yennefer and Ciri were waiting. When they saw the state the witcher was in, Yennefer let out a shout of anger. She looked like she was thinking very fast for a few seconds and then turned to Cirilla.

”Ciri, listen. Go get Harald an Tordarroch, now. He is visiting Emhyr. I will need his help,” she said very fast, and just as Ciri blinked out of existence, the sorceress turned her stormy eyes to Regis.

”Come, Regis. I need your help.” Regis nodded and carried Geralt upstairs into his bedroom. Yennefer stripped the covers from the bed and Regis laid Geralt down. He gave a low, faint moan as the vampire's hands left him, and Regis thought his heart might shatter. This was all his fault.

”Regis, please monitor his heart. I will need to do some aggressive examinations to know what we need to focus on first,” Yennefer said as she stripped off her gloves and laid her hands on Geralt's filthy chest. Immediately a soft, green light started to glow from where she touched, and Geralt gave another sound of distress.

Regis laid his fingers gently on his lover's carotid artery, feeling the weak pulse that fluttered like a bird's wings. His eyes followed Yennefer's as she went through the witcher's body, her face growing grim. Just as she finished, light blinked, and Ciri was back. With her came a grey-haired man in a healer's robes, carrying a heavy-looking leather briefcase.

”How is he?” Ciri asked, not daring to come closer in fear of interrupting. Yennefer shook his head, her lips thin with worry.

”His left kidney is almost gone, someone has kicked it with a steel boot. He has a very high fever, that cut on his thigh is infected, as are a number of smaller ones. His left shinbone has been broken, and it has started to heal in wrong position. His heart and lungs are struggling to hold on,” she said, her voice quivering only a little.

To Regis' astonishment, the healer immediately shrugged off his hood and pulled back his sleeves, coming closer without prompting. He looked at Geralt for a few seconds, then spoke with a quiet voice.

”Lady Yennefer, forgive me for walking over you, but this is what we will do. You will set to fixing that kidney. I will dose master Geralt with the milk of the poppy, as well as strongest medicines I have to fight the infection and fever. After the pain medication kicks in, we need to break his tibia again to set it properly,” he said, his tone brooking no argument.

”Master Regis, I'm told you are a surgeon. Please remain where you are, and inform me at once should his pulse fail. I will start to clean and suture that wound as soon as I have those medicines administered,” Harald an Tordarroch continued. His voice remained calm even as his eyes flickered from Geralt's head to his chest, and then to his legs. Regis nodded, and then watched as the healer set to mixing several doses of what he recognized by smell as extremely strong painkillers and other medications.

He could see the red glow where Yennefer pushed her hand against Geralt's badly bruised left side. Regis knew that getting to work on a wounded witcher without knocking him properly out was a risk, but the sorceress didn't seem to care. Her face was screwed up in concentration as she muttered in Elder Speech, her eyes still full of anger.

Regis kept his fingers on the pulse point, focusing on it and admiring the magic happening in front of his eyes. He had never suspected Yennefer of Vengerberg's abilities, but to see them first-hand in something as demanding as healing a witcher was breathtaking. He could suddenly understand why Geralt had fallen for her.

”Master Regis, can you open his mouth?” the healer asked. Regis nodded and with strong fingers he pried open the stiff jaws. He positioned Geralt so that he would not choke and then massaged his throat until he swallowed. The healer nodded approvingly and immediately set to work on the wound. As he cleaned it, Regis could not help grinding his teeth together. Someone had slashed at Geralt with a serrated knife, it seemed. The wound was almost six inches in length, its edges ragged and swollen. Even as Harald deftly cleaned it, puss and blood continued seeping from it.

Eventually Regis could feel Geralt go slack. The healer noticed it, too.

”Lady Cirilla, please take master Regis' place. You need to only monitor his pulse and tell me if it falters or gets alarmingly fast,” he said kindly. Regis surrendered his spot, and Ciri sat down on the edge of the bed. Her pale fingers found the artery, and she nodded to Regis. The vampire sighed, trying to shake the anxiety and don the surgeon's calm.

”I assume you have done this before?” the healer asked as Regis stripped off his tunic and rolled up the sleeves of his undershirt.

”Yes. I have been a surgeon for a long time,” he answered, running his fingers along the side of the leg, feeling for the bone. The fracture had not breached the skin, but the bone had remained crooked, and even a wounded witcher heals much faster than a normal human. He would need to break the whole tibia and then set it properly. He could sense the healer looking at him, his eyes narrowed.

”Yes?” he asked, not stopping his examinations.

”Do you have the physical power for it? Forgive me, but you do not look very strong,” the man said. His tone was matter-of-factly, not meant as an insult.

”I will manage,” Regis chuckled darkly, noticing Ciri give him a passing glance. He found the spot, positioned his fingers, and drew in a breath. In the corner of his eye, he saw Ciri close her eyes. Then he pushed, hard.

He had never felt queasy in his job, not even when trying to stitch together some really lost causes, or when Milva had miscarried before his eyes. But knowing it was Geralt under his hands made him feel a rush of nausea as he moved the bone to its place and then secured it with a splint. Afterwards he could feel the healer's eyes on him, inquisitive but not afraid.

***

Yennefer finally managed to fix the kidney a little after two in the morning. She immediately switched over to direct the red glow to Geralt's heart and lungs, not pausing for so much as a sip of water. Her voice grew hoarse during the long, dark hours. Ciri stroked her hair from where she sat. Regis and the healer washed Geralt, cleaned his wounds, stitched up so many cuts they lost count, and finally, when the sun started to peek over the horizon, they had nothing more they could do.

The witcher was still burning up, but the medicine kept him under. He lied very still, only the red glow of Yennefer's magic bringing life to the ghostly paleness.

”Cirilla, master Harald,” Regis said after a lull of inactivity. ”Please go get some sleep. I will send for you immediately if I require your assistance.”

Ciri tried to argue, but her eyes were drooping, and finally she and the older man left the room. Regis turned his eyes to Yennefer.

”Yennefer,” he said quietly. The sorceress gave a tight nod, but did not raise her eyes. ”Please. Get some rest. I think the worst is over. We will break that fever-”

When she lifted her gaze Regis saw immediately why she could make grown men weep in fear. Her eyes seemed aflame with pale, furious light. She snarled at him, not moving an inch.

”How dare you? I will not go anywhere until he is better,” she whispered, her voice cracking. Regis scowled, feeling his shoulders stiffen. Somewhere deep inside him a small, petty voice remarked how curious it was that she should worry about Geralt now, when she had abandoned him so many times in the past. Regis silenced it immediately, but he still felt the anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

”You will be of no use if you overexert yourself. I will remain by his side,” he answered, fighting to remain calm. All the fear and stress seemed to come crashing down when Yennefer cast a contemptuous look at him.

”If you think I will leave him _alone_ -”

”Alone?!” Regis realized he had shouted only when he saw Yennefer's eyes widen. ”He will not be alone. He has not been alone _for a moment_ after I finally found him again,” he growled, feeling his temper rise.

The woman watched him for a long while, her brow furrowed. Then she slowly lifted her hands, letting the red glow fade. Regis forced himself to take slow, controlled breaths, bringing his rage under control. It would be of no use to anger Yennefer.

”I'm sorry,” he whispered, as the sorceress started getting to her feet. She paused, regarding him. She did not look scared at all, and the anger was slowly being replaced by something almost curious. She turned to leave, stumbling a bit and revealing how exhausted she, too, was.

Regis thought she would go and leave him alone with his guilt, but he heard her pause at the door.

”So that's how it is,” she whispered, before she opened the door and left.

Regis let his shoulders slump as he took a seat next to the bed.

 

**III**

The next day passed with feeding Geralt the liquid nutrition formula Harald an Tordarroch had provided. The witcher remained unconscious, but stirred a few times (most notably when they all managed to get into an argument about the witcher's _modus operandi_ , which seemed to land him in trouble every time.) They were relieved when they finally spotted beads of sweat on Geralt's forehead just as the sun started to set. The fever had broken once they had managed to get enough nutrition into him for his body to start fighting for itself.

Regis knew he had spilled the proverbial beans when it came to Yennefer. The sorceress did not remark on his behaviour in any way when they met the next morning, but he could sense her eyes on him every time he touched Geralt. It made him uncomfortable, like he was somehow intruding. He tried to compensate his feeling of inadequacy by remaining as professional and detached as possible, but it was dreadfully hard.

As soon as he could be certain Geralt would pull through, his vampiric instincts begun to tell him he needed to hold his mate close and keep him safe. He knew contact with a loved one helped with healing, but he could check the witcher's temperature only so many times. Every chance alone he got, he grasped Geralt's hand and stroked his hair, calling him back. The witcher slept on, but his face was finally free of the pain.

The fourth day after Dandelion had brought Geralt back passed without anything worth mentioning. Regis was able to remove the splint, admiring the clean, healed bone with his fingers. It would surely be sore for a while, but the bone had mended itself with astonishing speed. Despite the hardships that his lover's life brought with it, Regis was once again desperately thankful for his accelerated healing and general hardiness. He was beginning to suspect his reason for not taking a human lover before had a lot to do with his worries of human fragility. With a witcher, he could be reasonably sure he would not break; and if he did, he would get better. Were it any other way, Regis knew he'd be worried sick. Well, sicker.

That evening, as everyone else bid him good night, Regis remained by Geralt's bed, having volunteered to administer his nightly medicines. Yennefer, Cirilla and Dandelion no doubt knew he needed less sleep than humans, but even the healer had agreed without a question. They had found a deep, mutual respect during those days, and Regis was desperately grateful for the Skelligan healer's expertice. Without him, they might have well made a mistake on that first day. An outsider had been just what was needed to steer them. Harald an Tordarroch had also seemed completely unperturbed by Regis' apparent nonhumanity; the vampire had not been as careful as he usually was, and he knew the Skelligan had seen his fangs, claws and physical strength, and had drawn his own conclusions. For some reason, he still seemed to regard Regis as a person of interest, but fundamentally safe.

Regis carefully tipped the sour-smelling antidotes into Geralt's mouth and made him swallow. He should have just retreated back to his seat next to the bed, but instead he remained there, cradling the witcher's head in his lap and stroking his hair. It smelled fresh again, after Cirilla had washed it with gentle hands the same morning.

Regis pressed a kiss to Geralt's forehead and fought back tears. He had been riding the edge of panic for days. Now that there was nothing more to be done but wait, he seemed to be on the verge of crying every time he stopped scampering around. He had never been one to shed tears easily before, but this experience had apparently dug that out from him. In his lap, Geralt left out a soft sigh and his lips parted.

Regis begun to hum an old song, finding some measure of comfort in the familiar cadence. It was an ancient song, originating from his home world. All vampires learned it as children, even the ones born after the Conjunction. It was about finding a home in the world, and how it could be a person as well as a place. It wasn't sad, per se, but it had always made him melancholic. Regis had always assumed he would live out his days without fulfilling the message of the lullaby.

Regis knew what the song meant to him now; Geralt had been his home for years already. When they had been riding towards the Stygga castle, Regis had finally understood why his heart had felt so different all that time in Toussaint. Even when he had been entertaining Natanis, something had felt amiss. He couldn't enjoy his present company even though he and Geralt had agreed that they should wait before intiating a relationship.

Geralt had became his pack when he confessed he had fallen for Regis. That much had become clear to him, as he rode towards the castle by Geralt's side. It was the first time Regis suspected the witcher might have something in common with him physiologically. He had heard other vampires accepting humans into their packs, but he had no knowledge whether they were able to sense each other the way vampires could when they entered a pack.

For ever since that first night, Regis had been hyperaware of everything the witcher did. He had attributed it to his own obsession with the man. But finally, when they were nearing their destination, he had to acknowledge the other possibility. It had broken a floodgate inside his heart, and he hadn't been able to hold his feelings secret any longer. That first kiss had been long time coming, and oh, it had been good. Bittersweet, but good.

Geralt stirred, pulling Regis back from his memories. The witcher made a pained face, but as soon as Regis resumed petting his hair, he settled back into the peaceful slumber. Regis managed a faint smile.

”Please, Geralt. Come back to me,” he whispered, so quietly even he could hardly hear. ”I miss your smile, and your fierce love, and I am so, so sorry.”

Geralt didn't answer. His breathing was deep and even, and his body had returned to its normal temperature. All these were comforting details, but Regis knew his heart wouldn't stop aching before Geralt opened his eyes again. No, scratch that, Regis knew he wouldn't feel entirely out of the woods before Geralt was as healthy as he had been before this whole debacle started.

Although, Regis thought as he let his fingers massage Geralt's scalp gently, Geralt had been hurting before he had ridden to Toussaint. He had been feeling lonely and sad for losing Ciri to Emhyr var Emreis. That burden had at least been easing ever since he'd met Regis again. The vampire knew that, because these things were plain for him to see. He could sense his mate's state of wellbeing and it had been improving, even as other things had started to go wrong.

Back at the cemetery, the night they had been reunited, Regis had been nervous beyond belief. His instincts were yelling at him to close the distance and make sure his pack member safe, get close to them, and show them affection. It was a natural reaction to a vampire who had been separated from a pack mate for an extended period of time, if greatly amplified by the traumatic way they had been separated and Regis' feelings. On top of his pack instincts had been something else, and it had been hurting viciously all the time he had kept his distance, allowing Geralt to have all the facts before committing to anything. He had been so overwhelmed it had been possible to discern the various emotions only later.

When Geralt had asked Regis to read his mind, the vampire had been almost appalled. He had all but given up the practice. Not all higher vampires could read thoughts, but he had been unfortunate enough to be bestowed with the skill. He had availed himself to it plenty of times during his younger years (although it felt physically repulsive and required a great deal of effort when done against the target's will,) but in the end it had always caused more pain than benefit. After he had become sober, he had also given up peeking into other people's heads, even when it could have helped him. It simply wasn't worth it, he'd thought.

Geralt had been perfectly clear on what he thought about Regis' skill when it had been revealed, and in that light his request seemed so hard to understand. Regis had gone in not knowing at all what to expect, only sensing that it was something enormous and without it, he would never know all of Geralt.

What he had seen had been beyond words. He had watched Hazair Tahraren take young Geralt into his bed, but also into his heart; the man had most likely saved the young witcher by giving him tools with which to handle his mutation-addled, labyrinthine thoughts. Regis had lived through Geralt's emotions, the vast, mindblowing scale of them, and known instantly that hiding all this had been a heavy weight on him. Suddenly he had been absolutely certain Yennefer had not known.

He'd realized he was hard and aching by the time the memories started to run out. It should have scared him, but he could only feel thoroughly awed. He had known some people enjoyed power play in their romantic encounters, but to experience it this way... He had realized Geralt trusted him completely by letting him see these memories. Regis' heart had hurt when he recalled the witcher's wary expression and self-deprecation before opening his mind, and he had wanted to love him in every way he could. As he waited for Geralt to regain his senses there on the forest floor, Regis had felt something settle into place, like some small piece had been askew and only now found its stead. He had wiped away the stray tears just before Geralt had opened his eyes.

The most incomprehensible thing, however, had been his own reaction to taking the control of their intimacy. Everything came to him so naturally it seemed uncanny. He had simply _known_ what he would need to do to please Geralt, to take care of him in the way no one had done since Hazair. There had been nothing distasteful about it, only endless new possibilities and too little time to explore them with his lover. Some of the things he had drawn from Geralt's memories, but even those he had done in his own way.

Regis' mind had been flooded with things he suddenly found himself craving, almost none of which were things he had previously considered. He'd felt almost like a young fledgling again, when his body and mind seemed to shift and change to accommodate this new kind of love. It had confused him immensely, until he had realized the existence of a mating bond between them. They had become so attuned to each other by then that Regis knew the bond had been budding for a long while. It had most likely taken root before his death, and as Regis simply knew, Geralt's unwavering trust in him had been the spark that lit that flame.

It was then that he had felt truly scared, although nothing could have made him leave Geralt's side by that time. No, Regis had simply decided he would tell Geralt as soon as all of the danger had passed, and hope desperately that the witcher would forgive him.

A small part of Regis couldn't help wondering how wonderful things had been even with the unfinished mating bond, and how perfect they could be with an acknowledged one. The bond would take time to grow into its full bloom, but it would be a breathtaking thing to behold. It would help them both to deal with their personal problems, and their reciprocal feelings would grow infinitely stronger.

Regis had met several bonded pairs during his lifetime, and all of them had seemed to radiate a sense of tranquillity and certainty about their mate and their mutual love. He'd longed for that, desperately enough to fall into the pit of the addiction to cope. After regeneration, he'd all but given up on the hope and forced his mind to focus on other things as no suitable candidates ever appeared. And then Geralt of Rivia had found him, and it had seemed self-evident that while nothing in their lives ever went smoothly, fate awarded them with some foundation-shaking surprises along the way.

Geralt let out a soft noise, one he often made when he was dreaming. Regis watched his face for a long while. His skin was pale as usual, and the few prominent scars on his face looked dark in the dim light that filtered through the window's curtains. His beard was growing back. Yennefer had wanted to shave it again as they had washed him earlier today, but Ciri had told her Geralt had taken a liking to wearing it longer, and that had been that. They'd needed to shave him clean when they had brought him in, and seeing the familiar stubble reapppear felt like a further sign that the sickness was ceding ground.

Regis sighed as he carefully laid Geralt's head back on the pillow. He couldn't bring himself to leave just yet, and instead took a seat next to the bed. He leaned his elbows to his knees, suddenly feeling deathly tired. He would need to yield to true sleep sooner or later, but he wanted to be here in case Geralt woke up. He would be alarmed, and seeing a familiar face would do him good. If nothing else, Regis wanted to make sure the witcher would not try to get out of the bed and rip a third of Harald's stitches out in the process.

Regis closed his eyes. He would talk to Geralt about everything he had discovered about their relationship, he promised himself. Just as soon as everything was back to normal. Regis wanted to be careful about this. He didn't think Geralt would leave him, but Regis didn't feel comfortable discussing this just yet. Everything was still new to him, as well. But, he thought as he slipped towards sleep, it could work out. For once, he dared to hope for a happy ending.

 

****IV** **

_Two months later:_

Regis had been reading a book about archespores when the feeling made itself known. He stilled, his eyes never leaving the page, but no longer focusing on the words. He didn't give any indication he had noticed, only concentrated on feeling the intention.

It was subtle. A hint of heat, a light brush against his soul. There was mischief, but also need. Regis blinked, savoring the fragile thread. It was exquisitely private, and the vampire couldn't help but swallow. He heard a chuckle and finally abandoned the pretense, a smile tugging at his lips.

Geralt was sitting on the other side of the study, behind the big desk that was currently overflowing with dictionaries and maps. He had been trying to translate some old maps. Key word being 'trying,' Regis mused as he raised an eyebrow. Geralt was leaning his head on his hand, looking relaxed and happy. His eyes crinkled as he noticed Regis looking at him.

”Yes?” Regis asked, trying to act like he had no idea what the witcher was thinking. Geralt grinned, clearly knowing exactly what he was doing.

Another tendril of heat brushed against his mind, this one more insistent. Regis licked his lips and saw Geralt's eyes follow the movement. He drew in a deep breath, already able to smell the first traces of arousal. It was heady, tempting, and Regis knew exactly what he wanted to get out of it.

”Mm. I think not,” he said, with enormous effort. For a second, there was only a disappointed silence, until he heard the soft _”oh.”_ The vampire suppressed a smile and returned to his book, only to keep feeling the tender probings vibrating through their bond. It was like some form of excuisite torture.

As Regis had suspected, the bond had grown in the time they had been together. After the spoken affirmation, which Geralt had all but dragged out of him, it had blossomed. Things that would have required spoken words became instinctual, little by little. Regis could sense when Geralt was hungry, tired, or when his injuries bothered him. He knew his own bouts of melancholy and guilt were also bleeding through. It was a process of learning to give and receive comfort and care for both of them.

But the good things outweighed the bad. Regis was learning to give Geralt space when it was needed. Geralt was learning to live with his lover's habit of thinking too much, not feeling the need to disturb every moment of stress. Now he would rather wait and see how his help was needed. As a result, their life had attained a sense of calm that neither could not recall ever experiencing before.

After Cirilla and the others had left, Geralt had simply assumed Regis would move in, and Regis had gladly stayed. Despite claiming the crypt had been an adequate residence, the vampire found himself liking the vineyard immensely. Its people had been overjoyed to discover the witcher had not been killed, and the estate was flourishing. Their hospitality extended to Regis, who had become a curious but accepted addition to the place.

Geralt and he had kept their relationship private. Only Barnabas-Basil and Marlene seemed to know, and they didn't pry. It was just as they had hoped.

And then there was the matter of intimacy, Regis mused as he turned a page and still resolutely feigned ignorance to the signals of desire his lover kept pushing his way. It had been amazing even before, and the only immediate effect of the bond had been a deep sense of security. Both of them had allowed themselves to trust in this, and it had made them grow closer. But day by day Regis had sensed things shifting, until one day Geralt had been staring at him as he worked in the alchemy lab, and a stab of heat had torn through Regis. He had almost dropped the bottle he had been holding, suddenly almost painfully hard without no preamble. He had turned around and found Geralt standing there looking astonished, his pupils blown wide.

”You felt that too?” he had whispered, awe and excitement spreading on his face as Regis had nodded. They had managed to break some bottles and vials after that, as Geralt had fucked him senseless right there on the table.

After that the new thread had grown stronger and caused much delight to them. Geralt had made a habit of brushing against Regis' mind ever so often, only to feel his presence. It was comforting, and Regis found himself responding in kind every time. He had completely understood what the vampire lullaby had been about only after that. The bond made them feel safe.

***

Regis kept the act up the whole evening, feeling smug satisfaction when he saw that by dinner Geralt was growing frustrated. It was terribly amusing, but by then most of Regis' considerable mental capacity had been obliterated by the pretense. The witcher could hide his reactions from the staff, but not from Regis, and it was driving him crazy. As they sat down to eat, the vampire took a good look at his lover.

Geralt smelled of the first stages of arousal; there was the familiar musk, not yet breaking into heated sweat. Regis knew from experience what it tasted like on his skin, and he barely suppressed a shiver. Geralt's eyes were the gorgeous golden as usual, but his pupils remained dilated, and his breathing was just a touch too hard. His body seemed a bit tense, as if he was preparing for a fight. To put it simply, he looked perfect.

Regis let his lips stretch into a lazy smile, finally allowing some of his own arousal bleed into their link. Geralt, who had been taking a sip of wine, almost choked. Regis suppressed his laughter as the witcher sent him a murderous glare. He kept on the subtle touch on their link, feeding the fire inside Geralt by almost unnoticeable sweeps of lust. As a vampire, Regis had more control on the process, but he doubted the matter would remain unchanged. Geralt was refining his handle of the connection day by day, but for now, Regis could take advantage of his mastery.

Unbeknownst to Geralt, Regis had also requested that the staff went home early tonight, essentially giving them a free evening. He could be certain they wouldn't be disturbed, and do his best to keep Geralt too preoccupied to notice the absence of other people. It should introduce a new edge to this play.

As they started on the dinner, Regis sent out a stronger wave of heat. Geralt shuddered and a fine sheen on sweat was starting to break out on his skin.

”What are you doing?” he whispered, trying to sound casual, but his voice was catching. Regis tried to look innocent.

”Whatever could you mean?” he asked, focusing on his meal and all the while keeping a tight reign of the connection, allowing it to carry over ghosts of physical sensations.

He had discovered this particular quirk only a few days ago, when Geralt had been complaining of an ache in his leg that Regis had had to break again. Ghost of the pain had edged along the link, and Regis had stored the information away for further inspection.

Geralt flushed when he realized what was happening, his fingers gripping the table hard.

”That, I mean that,” Geralt muttered, trying to keep his voice even and failing miserably. He had worked himself up by trying to seduce Regis, and now that Regis was flooding his mind he was instantly and almost uncomfortably aroused.

”Hmm, I'm not certain I understand what you mean,” Regis smiled, letting his smile stretch into a hungry one. He loved watching Geralt trying not to squirm, clearly hard inside his breeches and desperately trying to apppear normal, should one of the serving girls walk in on them. Regis decided he enjoyed the situation immensely; he really should explore the possibilities of using public places to tease his lover in the future.

”You're doing that, _ohh,_ that, on purpose,” Geralt answered, trying to sound angry and failing miserably as Regis kept on his assault. The vampire could feel himself starting to show interest in the situation, and tuned the heat down a notch. He shrugged and continued eating, pinning Geralt down with a dark glare.

”You brought this on yourself, my love,” he whispered. He saw Geralt swallow, his cheeks reddening. ”Eat,” he continued, when Geralt simply stared at him, his eyes glowing.

”What?” the witcher managed, clearly trying to drag his mind out of the gutter.

”I said, eat. We haven't finished dinner,” Regis repeated and watched with satisfaction as Geralt finally picked up the utensils and continued eating, shifting in his seat minutely. Regis smelled his arousal now, strong in the air. He knew Geralt could soon smell his.

By the time Regis had finished eating, he was fully hard and more than ready to truly take the matters into his own hands. Geralt had been glaring at him the whole time, and his breath audibly hitched as Regis rose from his seat, revealing his own state. Geralt made to move, but Regis shook his head. The vampire stalked around the table, coming to stand beside the witcher's chair. Geralt twisted around, his head craning up to look Regis in the eye. His lips were parted and he smelled of love and sex. Regis felt the bond pulse in the back on his mind, flooding with adoration just before he grasped Geralt's loose hair and bared his neck.

Geralt let out a moan even before Regis' lips found his skin. His breath was coming harsh and stuttering as Regis set to work, first with kisses and nips, and then with biting and sucking. He left a path of lovebites as he traveled lower, the last one coming to life just bellow his collarbone. Regis admired his handiwork until Geralt gave a soft whine. He surged to kiss the witcher, who let him roam freely, enthusiastic and pliant.

Regis grasped his hair again and gave it a twist, forcing Geralt's face tilt up and meet his gaze. Regis could tell his eyes had shifted, they were always the first thing to go back their true form when he was aroused.

”You have been disturbing me,” he said slowly, watching Geralt's throat bob as he swallowed. ”You will get what's coming for you,” he continued, before yanking him up by the hair. Geralt scampered to his feet, clearly trying to see where the evening was going. Regis smirked.

”You will go to our bedroom and strip. You will lay down on the bed, and you _may not_ touch yourself,” he whispered before giving him with a kiss that was more teeth than lips.

”What if I do?” Geralt said, clearly giving this his best shot after being made to wait the whole day. Regis growled and yanked his hair again, latching on to his throat and biting down almost hard enough to break the skin. There was going to be a lovely purple bruise, come morning.

”You won't. You will not get me if you do,” he answered, before releasing his grip and stepping back. He crossed his arms and pursed his lips.

For a while, they stared at each other. Just as Geralt looked like he might actually say something, Regis let go of his grip on the bond and let all of his lust flood through. The effect was immediate. Geralt's eyes widened and he let out a choked sound.

”How...?” was all he managed before he turned heel and left the room. Regis let out a breath, glancing at his own trousers. That had been intense.

When he ascended the stairs few minutes later, he could hear Geralt's breathing had become ragged. He had kept sending over images, looking for new ways to utilize the bond now that Geralt's mind was open and relaxed, ready to receive anything he gave.

When Regis opened the door, he was hit by the smells. He stood there and inhaled deeply, and a grin spread on his lips. He could hear Geralt give a breathy laugh and as he opened his eyes his mouth was suddenly very dry. The witcher had done as he had been told. He was lying on the bed, the covers thrown off. He was naked and sweaty, his cock beading with precome, legs twitching. He met Regis' gaze and tried to grin.

”Like what you see?” he managed. Regis nodded and closed the door. He started to strip off his clothes one article at the time. It was nothing short of self-inflicted torture, and he let Geralt feel that. He heard him clear his throat, turning on his side to look. When Regis glanced at him again, he saw the witcher was smiling.

”You look amazing,” he breathed, as Regis pulled his shirt off and folded it on the chair. He chuckled. ”You should see yourself, love.” Geralt licked his lips.

When Regis slid down his trousers, Geralt let out an audible sigh. The vampire chuckled as he finally walked to the bed. Geralt stared at him with eyes that were heavy with heat and hopes. Regis caressed his cheek and grasped his hair tightly. Geralt favored him with a groan as Regis guided him to lie down and straddled his chest.

”I promised you would get me if you behaved,” he murmured, seeing how Geralt's eyes flicked on his cock and then back to his face. ”I think you could put that pretty mouth of yours to better use,” he added.

”I think not,” Geralt bit out, his eyes glinting. Regis saw him bite his teeth together with a stubborn huff, and heat flared inside his gut. He allowed his eyes flare black again and pinned Geralt's arms above his head with one hand.

Taking a mate had sped up Regis' recovery. He had seen his familiar black hair growing back for a while now, but his strength had taken longer to return. After he and Geralt had affirmed the bond, he had felt like someone had breathed new life into him. The time before felt like a confused dream compared to feeling truly like himself after so many years. And it was all thanks to the man currently glaring at him from his disadvantage.

Regis growled and let his cock nudge Geralt's lips. A jolt of pleasure went through him as he saw Geralt try to turn his head away, still holding his lips together tightly. _So this is how it was going to be._

Regis let his other hand come to rest against the witcher's cheek and let his claws scrape his stubbly cheek.

”I will give you one more chance to do as I say,” Regis whispered, smiling so that his fangs showed. ”After that I will not be as lenient.” He watched Geralt's eyes flash, but his mouth remained shut. Regis smirked. ”As you wish.”

He carefully positioned his index finger and thumb into the strategic places on Geralt's cheeks and started to apply pressure. It took a second longer than he had expected, but finally Geralt's jaws opened under the force. Regis slipped his fingers between his teeth and held them apart easily.

”Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?” he purred. Geralt was panting, and Regis could feel his cock give a twitch. The witcher's eyes were wide.

”If you want to get fucked, you might want to start behaving now,” Regis said conversationally. He saw Geralt nod.

”Good,” he smiled and slid his fingers into his mouth, pushing in and out until Geralt started to suck on them. ”Oh, you're hungry for more?” Regis asked, even as his own cock was aching to get some of that. ”Ask for it,” he said, sliding his wet fingers out.

”Fuck you,” Geralt ground out. Regis slapped him. Not too hard, but hard enough for it to sting. He ran his fingers across the red mark and laughed. ”Try again.” The scent of sex seemed to get thicker. Geralt licked his lips and looked at Regis' cock with glazed eyes.

”Please,” he finally whispered. Regis' thumb pulled down his bottom lip as he guided his cock to tease Geralt's mouth. The witcher tried to move, but Regis stilled with a hand to his throat.

”And now you're more than ready, ever eager for me,” he purred, letting the tip slide over his lover's lips. Just as he was certain his own control would break Geralt licked along the tip, straining against his hands in vain. Regis moaned and pushed in.

Wet heat enveloped him. Regis kept his hands on Geralt's hands and throat, fucking his mouth with shallow strokes. Geralt's eyes slipped shut as he sucked and licked, prompting Regis to thrust deeper. Regis tightened his hold on his throat and was favored with a stifled groan. Geralt's eyes flew open, looking eager. Regis let out a laugh and kept his hand on his lover's windpipe, careful not to push too hard.

Geralt was really good at giving head, some small, still-rational part of Regis pointed out. He had told Regis he loved doing it, and Regis had enthusiastically obliged to give his lover what he wanted. He could symphatize Geralt's eagerness; there was little else he loved as much as watching the witcher lose himself when he was on the receiving end of the act.

Regis suddenly thrusted his cock deep and then held it there, panting with the effort to hold off his release. Geralt had next to no gag reflex, and he simply swallowed Regis down, giving a deep moan that vibrated in his throat. Regis watched him, the witcher working his mouth around him, and he was so in love it almost hurt.

He pulled out, then. Geralt drew in a deep breath as Regis' hand left his throat. His lips were deep red and slick, sweat glistening on his brow. Regis grinned down on him, still holding his arms above his head.

”Now, I think I will get to work on you,” he whispered, reaching into the nightstand to retrieve the heavy manacles he had purchased a week ago. They were plain steel, but sturdy enough. Both of them could see immediately that breaking out of them would be a real feat even for Geralt.

Geralt's eyes flew open and his mouth hung open. Regis gave him a short while to voice his opinion, but when the witcher uttered none of the safewords, Regis slipped the manacles around his wrists and locked them in place. He leaned back and admired his handiwork. Truth be told, he'd had them custom made for a perfect fit. Geralt's wrists were thick, and he didn't wish to obstruct blood flow completely. The bar joining the heavy rings was just short enough that it pulled Geralt's hands close together where they rested over his head.

”My, you look possibly debauched like this,” Regis grinned, letting his hands drag a ghost of a touch down Geralt's chest and stomach. Geralt gave a breathy laugh.

”Shoulda guessed you wouldn't be happy with ordering me to keep my hands to myself,” he said, testing the manacles. Apparently he found them to his liking, because his cheeks flushed even more. Regis gave him a smug smile.

”I've told you many times how clever you are,” he answered as he moved down, caressing Geralt's body as he went. When he reached his cock, Regis swallowed. Geralt's body had several delightful ways of showing he was enjoying himself, but Regis' absolute favourite was how he started leaking precome when he got past a certain point. Regis had never had a lover who could manage that. Geralt's erection glistened in the light of the single oil lamp, a testament to his enjoyment of the acts just performed.

Regis let his thumb drag a line across the tip, heavy and red under his hands. Geralt moaned, his hips bucking. Regis laughed and laid his hand on his pelvis.

”Now, now,” he chided as he held the witcher in place with ease. In any other situation the use of his power would have felt wrong, but he could feel through the bond that Geralt was going crazy with it. The witcher had few matches to his physical strength, and Regis just happened to be one.

Regis retrieved the oil they had been using and made a mental note to brew more before pouring some on his fingers. He started to work a finger in and out of Geralt, crooking the digit ever so often to hit against the spot that made his lover cry out.

”Hmm, I wonder whether you would be able to come without a touch to your cock,” Regis murmured as he slipped in a second finger. They had been at this often enough that he knew how to do this by heart.

”Hazair managed it, _nngh_ , once,” Geralt ground out, just as Regis was starting to think the witcher had been reduced to a quivering mass of nerve endings.

”Mm, I think I recall something of the sort,” Regis hummed, smiling crookedly. Geralt threw his head back and let out a groan as Regis inserted a third finger.

”Gods, Regis, please,” he bit out as Regis fucked him with his fingers, drinking in the sounds he made. ”I want you inside of me, please. Fuck me, I need you.”

”You finally found your manners,” Regis answered, trying to sound scolding and failing very badly indeed. He could feel his own erection throbbing and hanging heavy between his legs. Geralt managed a weak grin through his lust-addled haze.

”You gave me a good enough reason.”

Regis barked a laugh and coated himself with the oil. He thrust into Geralt with one rough motion, seeing his pupils dilate. The vampire held Geralt's hips in place to prevent him from thrusting back. He settled to slow, teasing strokes, all the while watching Geralt struggle to push back. The sight of his muscles straining was mesmerizing.

”Stop that teasing,” Geralt growled, his chest muscles tightening and relaxing as he tried to move. Regis pursed his lips, pushing harder just once and then pulling almost completely out.

”Ever so rude,” he murmured, thrusting in with shallow, slow strokes. He knew the feeling would drive Geralt up the wall sooner than anything else. ”You will take what I give, and if you keep complaining, you might not even get that.”

He gave him a deep, sharp thrust, reveling in the almost-sob Geralt gave. The he continued teasing, although he knew he would not last long, now.

Regis kept up the merciless act until he could see Geralt's cock grow thicker and he knew his lover was close. He paused, watching him. Geralt looked back, his breathing ragged, the white hair strewn across the pillow. His eyes were dark with heat, and the bond was singing with lust and love.

”You're amazing,” Regis whispered. He surged to kiss Geralt, biting on his lip and letting go of his hips in favor of grasping his leaking cock. At the same time he started to thrust fast and hard. Geralt let go of any restraints he still might have held and thrust back, angling his hips so that Regis reached even deeper.

Regis felt his orgasm start at the back of his head. The bond went deathly quiet, so full of the moment it ceased to be anything but white noise. The electric feeling travelled down his spine in one long, burning sweep, and then he felt himself tipped over. He came with such force his hands gave out, just as Geralt let out a cry and spilled himself all over his hands, his hips jerking.

Regis collapsed on top of Geralt, badly out of breath and his mind swiped clean. Vaguely, he reveled in the bond's ability to bring them to completion at the same time. He took a few deep breaths and opened his eyes. Geralt was panting even harder, his cheeks red and beads of sweat rolling down his neck. He seemed to be somewhere far away, and Regis' lips were pulled into a tender smile at the sight.

He carefully pulled out and dug out the key to the manacles. Geralt's wrists were bruised, but it seemed to be only because he had been writhing so much. As Regis tossed the pieces of metal to the floor and climber back into bed, Geralt finally opened his eyes. He blew some hair off from his eyes and turned towards Regis. Regis' arms were waiting for him, and he pulled the witcher flush to his chest. He rolled over so that Geralt's head came to rest on his shoulder, his lover adjusting to the embrace with ease. By now he knew Regis wanted to hold him close after they had one these nights.

”I love you,” Geralt muttered, his fingers tracing patterns on Regis' chest. Regis smiled and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. ”I love you too.”

There was a long, thoughtful silence. Regis kept stroking Geralt's hair, occasionally drawing in their mingling scent. He knew the witcher was deep in thought, but he could tell he needed time to process something. The bond was silent, just contentment oscillating along it. This close it was almost hard to tell where the mating bond ended and their bodies begun.

”That was different than before,” Geralt finally said. Regis scratched his scalp and he made a pleased noise.

”How?” Regis asked when Geralt did not elaborate. He felt him shrug, clearly still trying to find the right words.

”Earlier... You've hurt me and thrown me around a bit. But now you took more control. You forced me to do stuff,” Geralt answered, the words coming slowly. Regis craned his head to watch his face. Geralt's eyes met his, looking calm but curious. ”It was good, don't get me wrong. I liked it a lot,” he said quickly when he saw Regis' worried expression. ”But it was very different from before.”

Regis let his head fall back into the pillows and thought about it. What Geralt said was true. Their earlier play sessions had not been nearly this intense. Regis had been hesitant to assume the truly dominant role, until now. Especially since his instinct to care for Geralt was so strong. When they made love in more traditional ways, Regis was always very tender, pouring his adoration into everything he did.

”It felt natural, this time,” he finally answered. ”I've been adjusting, and as the bond has been growing some things have begun to shift. I guess it's a learning curve,” he finished, feeling thoughtful. ”I rather liked that, truth to be told.” He felt Geralt shake with laughter before he settled back against his side, warm and solid.

”I love the contrast. You're always so caring and compassionate, and then you have this other side that only I get to see,” he whispered. Regis hugged him closer.

”It only exists for you,” he murmured.

”Mm. Wouldn't have it any other way.”

”Me neither.”

 


End file.
